


Sick Days

by NightFoliage



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Incest, Injury, Language, M/M, Memory Issues, Post-Canon, Sick Character, Sick Fic, Stancest - Freeform, Twincest, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-30 17:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightFoliage/pseuds/NightFoliage
Summary: Stan gets sick and he’s so grateful when Ford takes care of him. It’s just a sandwich and some orange juice, but it’s more care than he’s been shown for quite some time.Or3 times Stan isn’t well (or is faking it) and the one time he is.





	Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caliowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/gifts).

> Word Count: ~7.7k
> 
> Author’s Note: Sick Fic - based on a headcanon by caliowl

**One**

The cold nips at his nose, but Stan continues to lay on the deck, basking in the sunlight. The chill is creeping through his clothing and into his bones, but he’s so comfortable right now. The sun is warm, the air is fresh, and the boat rocks gently with the waves. He feels young again, and healthy, in a way he never was in Gravity Falls. It must have something to do with being on the Stan O War. 

It’s such a nice day that it would be a shame not to enjoy it. He closes his eyes and allows himself to relax further. It’s as if he’s becoming one with the ship and the sea. 

But a moment later, a shadow looms over him, blocking his sun. 

“Can I help you with something, Sixer?” Stan says, not bothering to open his eyes. 

Ford moves so he’s no longer casting a shadow. Stan can hear him walking around until his twin sits down next to his head with a groan. After another moment, he finally replies, “I’m fine, Stan. I wanted to check on you.” 

“I’m enjoying the sun,” he says. 

Ford chuckles. “I can see that.” 

After that they sit and enjoy the day (and each other’s company). One of Ford’s hands is near his head and Stan can hear it gently tapping against the deck. It doesn’t bug him, but it does make him awfully aware of how close, and how far away, Ford is sitting from him. 

A moment later, Ford’s hand stops. Stan doesn’t allow himself to react. Ford does- something, he’s moving, messing around, Stan doesn’t know what, but he is doing something. Eventually Ford works up the nerve to move his hand close enough so that it’s brushing Stan’s ear. 

Stan catches his hand and presses a quick kiss to his knuckles. Then he steals the hand for himself, intertwining their fingers. 

Ford chuckles again, a little shy and a little awkward, but he doesn’t let go. Instead he scoots closer so that his thigh is pressed against Stan’s upper arm, and so both their hands (still intertwined) can rest comfortably on Stan. 

Then they settle in. 

This is new for them. In hindsight, it was a long time coming, but only now that they’ve had the chance to talk things out, be alone on a boat, and get to know each other again, did things take a turn. It’s good. Nice, really. But they’re still figuring things out. 

Like this. Figuring out that they can hold each other’s hands and just be together. 

Stan doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually Ford pulls his hand (reluctantly) away. “I’m going to head in, Stan. Don’t stay out too long,” he says. 

Stan nods. 

Ford hesitates only a moment before going inside. 

Stan stays out until he feels himself getting hungry. He could push past it, he’s very comfortable, but he can also smell the start of brunch in the air. He sits up with a groan (maybe he is too old to be laying out on the deck without a cushion) and heads inside. 

From there the days pass and they have adventures galore. Every week they discover anomalies and action around every corner. In the off weeks, their days are calm and slow. They enjoy life on the ship and each other’s company. 

Stan still takes to lying on the deck when the weather is nice and when the weather isn’t good. He’s roughed it in worse conditions. The changing of the seasons, with it’s chillier weather isn’t enough to put him off the habit. It’s not everyday he can do it too. There are some adventures and some other activities that make him miss his chance, so he takes advantage of the opportunity if it presents itself. 

One morning, Stan decides to lay out on the deck even though it’s below 60 and windy (and even though he’s very sore and tired from their latest adventure, exploring an uncharted island). But it’s sunny and the ocean is calm, and they’re anchored next to an island, so he figures he deserves a break. He's been cooped up on this island for too long. 

Stan spreads out on the decks and enjoys the sun’s rays. It isn’t long until he drifts off…

——-

He wakes up too fast, his bones popping from the action of sitting up abruptly.  _ What the- _ Stan lets out a hacking cough. He’s bent over, his throat sore and he lets out a few more hacks. Eventually the phlegm comes out and he can stop. 

“Hoo boy,” Stan groans. 

He wraps his arms around himself and shivers. God, he’s freezing. He looks around, he’s on the deck, the sun has set, and his whole body feels like a block of ice. 

Shit. He fell asleep on the deck. 

Stan clambers up, and he has to grit his teeth in order to stand. His body is frozen and his bones are creaking in pain. The rest of his body that isn’t cold is numb and he hurries below deck to warm up. The difference in temperature is a relief and his whole body comes alive, slowly thawing. 

Then comes the pins and needles. Which is uncomfortable as hell but Stan shakes it off. Better to feel pain than to be frozen and numb (and dead). 

A quick peek into their bedroom shows Ford dozing away. He’s still wearing his clothes from this morning so he must have not woken up after collapsing in bed. That explains why his brother didn’t wake him up. Stan lets him sleep. He can take care of himself. 

Throwing on an extra sweater, Stan heads to the kitchen. He would love a shower to warm up, but frankly his stomach is crying out to him after not eating for the whole day. He sets up the ingredients for a quick soup and takes a swig of water at the same time. 

Stan grimaces. 

The water is cold and the temperature makes him pause. He feels a tickle at the back of his throat- he doesn’t take another drink and instead waits on the soup. It isn’t too long before the soup is ready. He serves himself a portion of soup and scarfs it down. 

Yuck. The soup is incredibly bland, Stan must have rushed the cooking. The taste ruins his appetite so he only manages to finish the bowl in front of him. The rest he puts away, maybe he’ll fix it at a later time. 

Next is a wash. He’s not feeling up for a shower so he washes himself with a warm washcloth. At first the hot towel feels great against his skin, but the relief quickly leaves him when being wet makes him colder than ever. He washes up as fast as he can and prepares to get in bed. He’s slept all day, but if Ford can keep sleeping, then maybe he could catch a few winks too and warm up. 

Stan slides into the oh so warm bed with a sigh. Ford unconsciously opens up his arm and Stan slips into the space with a sigh. God he’s so warm. Maybe it’s his brother or the warmth of the bed, but Stan feels his eyelids getting heavy in seconds.

He slowly drifts to sleep…

——-

“Stan?” 

The voice is so familiar, but he’s tired, so tired. His eyes don’t want to open and his body doesn’t want to move, so he doesn’t. Instead his body buries into the warmth of his surroundings even though he’s so hot. 

“Stan- you’re burning up, are you okay?” 

Something cool presses against his head and the touch is both a comfort and an irritation. It’s gentle and the coolness feels kinda nice, but the fact it’s not warm makes him skitter away. 

“Are you wearing your clothes from yesterday? Oh no, don’t tell me you fell asleep on the deck. What have I said about that irritable habit, Stanley?” 

The sounds make him roll over and he hits something on his way around. 

“Ow!” 

The change in position is nice. He doesn’t understand why, but it’s more comfortable this way and Stan feels himself drifting off again. 

“Oh, Stan, wait-“ 

Everything fades away…

——-

He wakes up again, although there’s not change in how he feels. He’s still groggy, his body is ridiculously heavy, and he’s tired. However he really has to piss, so he manages to get up and shuffle to the bathroom. As he’s washing his hands, he feels relieved (heh) but even worse than he started because his body is coming alive. God, is he sore and aching everywhere. 

Ugh, and he’s sweaty and disgusting. He gives himself a sniff. He’s probably stinking up the place. Not the best state to be in when there’s only so much room and they’re stuck inside. Buthe thought of staying of staying out of bed, makes Stan sway. He can’t manage a shower.

Splashing some water on his face helps, but that’s the most he can do. 

Each step back is agonizing and feels like a million miles. He almost gets turned around once or twice, but soon he trips back into bed. He’s shuffling around, trying to get under the blankets when the door flies open. 

Stan doesn’t turn around. He’s weighed the options and maybe a fast death is better than this being sick bullshit. 

“Stan, you’re awake!” Ford exclaims. 

Not a fast death then. 

Stan ignores him. He’s about this close to winning the battle against the sheets and having them actually cover him instead of tangling him up. 

However, Ford comes over and helps yank the sheets away and then place them over him. 

“Thanks,” Stan manages to croak out. 

He’s about to pass out when Ford stops him, “One moment. You need sustenance for this illness of yours. Here.” 

Stan blinks as Ford holds something up for him. A sandwich and a glass of orange juice. 

Oh. 

Ford moves forward to hand him the plate and the glass and Stan has to awkwardly scramble to prop himself up. He manages to get a hold of both without spilling anything, but he can’t eat holding them up. 

Ford watches expectantly, almost nervously. 

“Uh, can you get me some water, Ford?” Stan asks after a moment of silence. 

“Oh, of course. I’ll be right back.” Ford gives him one last worried look before leaving the room. 

Once he’s gone, Stan places the glass on the nightstand, then jams his hand under his armpit- shit, the glass is cold. Ford must have just poured it, because the glass already has condensation on it. 

When his hand warms up, he takes a small sip. The cold drink almost hurts, but the way it slides down his throat and how sweet it is makes Stan chug the whole thing in one go. Next he takes a bite of the sandwich, which is okay, but a bit dry and bland and also cold (he should have saved some OJ). He almost chokes because it’s so dry and as he’s pounding on his chest trying to clear his lungs, his eyes start to water. 

But it’s not because he’s almost choking. 

Stan swipes at his eyes as he takes another bite. God, he shouldn’t be getting teary-eyed over a bad sandwich and a glass of juice, but here he is. 

It’s been so long since he’s been cared for. So long since Ford cared for him and he can’t fight against the rampage of emotions sweeping through him. No, he should be pissed that this is the best that Ford can do (at least make him some soup or something goddammit), but even with this much he can’t help but be so freakin happy. 

Stan loves that stupid man. 

The door swings open and Ford comes back with a thermos of water. 

He needs that water stat. He couldn’t even tell Ford thanks because his mouth is so dry. He manages to get the lid off and takes sip- 

Oh shit, that’s cold too. 

But he needs it, so he drinks all of it while eating the rest of his meal. 

After so much work- the cold beverages, scarfing down the food, Stan is just so incredibly cold and tired all of a sudden. The thermos and plate are lifted from his person and he slumps down. Ford leaves, presumably to do dishes? Get him more water? He doesn’t know, but he has to lay down and get into the sheets himself. 

Before Ford gets back, he settles down and drifts to sleep. 

——-

The next few days is a lesson in how terrible Ford is at taking care of others. Stan is suddenly glad that he never left the kids alone with Ford for more than a day, because they might have died in Ford’s care. Probably from scurvy or rictus or something else easily preventable. At least when he had them over for the summer he made sure to steal stuff kids needed to eat. 

He has to remind his dumbass brother to get him food, water, and medicine. Beyond that, Stan can’t swallow his pride enough to ask for help. Like help in the shower (he ends up using a wet cloth to wash himself when he has the energy), help sitting up (sometimes he just eats and drinks laying flat), or help getting out of bed (those days are the worst and Stan shoots back decades and he’s suddenly in his teens, twenties, and thirties, lying in his own filth, unsure as to what his plans are for the future). 

He’s getting on in his years so it takes him longer to recover, but eventually he does and he takes the opportunity to do what he couldn’t: cook, take a shower, and sun on the deck (being more careful this time not to fall asleep). Not that he could fall asleep if he tried. Ford has been hovering despite his general inability to take care of anything. He pays special attention to things he can see that Stan needs and is more gentle than normal. 

The pampering and additional attention is nice and Stan can’t help but drink it in. It’s been so long since anyone has looked after him, that it’s nice to sit back and let someone else do all the work (and since he’s not sick, he can enjoy it). 

The first time they sleep together after his sickness, Ford takes it upon himself to take care of Stan, and damn is he much better at this type of ‘care’. 

Stan almost wishes he could be sicker longer. 

Almost. 

Ford’s non-sexual care really is shitty. 

Truthfully he hopes he doesn’t get sick again (but in some ways he does). 

* * *

**Two **

Stan recovers to full health and after punching out another sea creature and proving that his body and stamina has recovered (quite rigorously and in bed), Ford starts treating him like normal. It’s a little disheartening, but Stan appreciates being able to do everything normally again and not having to deal with Ford’s terrible thoughts on what caretaking is. 

Still the experience isn’t one he’s willing to repeat, so he’s more careful when he sunbathe on the deck and Ford is more willing to sit out with him in order to keep him healthy. 

Which is why he’s totally blindsided when he gets put down for the count, just not in the way he was expecting. 

They’re having an adventure, an exceptionally exciting one to celebrate the fact that Stan is better now. They’re investigating an anomaly that Ford is interested in, one that turns into a bigger challenge than they expected. 

“Duck!”

Both of them drop onto the ground as a branch swings around and lashes at them. They both roll in opposite direction as another branch smacks into the ground. The impact is so strong they can feel the vibrations reverberate through their bodies. 

Their eyes meet. 

Stan starts, “We should-” 

“-Shoot it in the face!” Ford answers and rolls forward bringing his gun up. 

Stan almost facepalms. What he wanted to say is that they should run, but no. His brother’s answer to everything is to shoot it in the face. 

Stan leaps up, just as his brother takes a shot. The shot goes wide when a branch lashes out, pushing his brother off-balance. Then the branch is quick to grab his brother. 

The branch is about to drag Ford away when Stan punches it. Surprisingly, that works and the branch lets go. 

Instead of taking the chance to run, Ford tries to shoot again and this time the tree slaps the gun out of his hand. Another branch then whips down, about to strike his brother, but Stan jumps in front, taking the blow. 

Lightning shoots through his arm and he immediately clamps down on his mouth to stop a cry. If he starts to cry then he doesn’t know if can stop. He can’t be crying here, he needs to kill the damn tree before it kills them. He moves-

And almost whites out at the  _ pain.  _ Shit, it’s so bad he can’t concentrate-

“Stan!” Ford yells. 

His words give him something to latch onto other than the pain and Stan moves (even though it  _ hurts hurts hurts- _ ), he sucks in a mouthful of air as much as his lungs will let him and sprints away. He manages to get a hand tangled in Ford’s sweater and his brother is yanked along with him. He leads them in a zig-zagging pattern, which turns out to be a smart plan when another branch smacks into the ground so hard Stan can feel tremors. 

After a terrifying sprint later, they break out of the forest. Stan chances a look over his shoulder: Ford is beside him, his hand still clinging to the man’s shirt, while Ford’s hand is wrapped around his sleeve. The man’s face is blank, but Stan can tell the man is frustrated and worried. 

Stan can’t bear to see that expression on his face so he looks over his other shoulder towards the forest. Thankfully, nothing’s chasin them and they're about to make it to the boat safely when Stan notices his arm trailing oddly after his body. He’s oddly detached at the sight, even though it’s his arm, and he can’t tell what’s wrong until he remembers- oh yeah, he’s in a fuckton of pain right now. 

Shit, his arms broken. 

This isn’t the first time he’s broken his arm (and will unlikely be his last), but for some reason he hasn’t registered it until now. Fuck, he’s got to look away. It’s not important until they get to safety, then he can take care of it. 

They get in the boat and separate. The both of them work to get the boat ready, except- damnit his fucking arm. 

Stan can tell it’s swelling and if he doesn’t get his clothes off then they’ll have to cut them off. (Shit, this is Ford’s favorite sweater too. Apparently it makes him look easy to cuddle.) He’s in a great deal of pain, but Stan manages to strip off his clothes until he’s shirtless. Then he gets to work. It’s harder to rig the sails with one arm, but a combination of willpower and stubbornness (and his fake teeth) gets the job done. They’re sailing away from the island in minutes and it’s only when the island is a far away speck do they put down the anchor to rest. 

Ford comes over to him and finally notices his undressed state. Ford gives him an odd look. 

“Stan, I know that saving the day gets you.. amorous, but I don’t think I’m in the mood for that at the moment,” Ford says. 

The dumbass. Guess he didn’t notice Stan’s arm. 

His arm twinges in acknowledgement. Ugh, now that he’s starting to calm down, the pain is coming back in full force. He turns away, about to go below deck and fix himself up when Ford grabs his arm. 

His broken one. 

“Fuck!” He yells and he can’t help but feel his body buckle at the unexpected pain. His knees hit the deck hard and he can feel his arm shaking. Stan clutches his shoulder and wills himself to control it. 

“Stanley!” Ford cries out and drops down next to him. He gasps. The man must have finally noticed Stan’s broken arm. 

He hovers before moving to Stan’s other side. Stan takes the hint and slings his good arm around Ford’s shoulder. Ford maneuvers them below deck. He’s going a little too fast, Stan has to be extremely careful not to hit his bad arm against anything, but they manage to get to the kitchen without incident.

Stan sits and Ford rummages around for a makeshift cast- but Stan gives him a light smack and tells him to grab the first aid kit. He’s not going to use a makeshift cast if he can help it. Those days are behind him. The heavy duty medical kit is placed in front of him and Stan fumbles for the latch. Ford undos it for him and Stan starts splinting himself with the kit. 

After the second time Ford attempts to help (but is really getting in the way), Stan shoos him away. He manages to do the work himself (he’s had to do it alone before, it’s just like riding a bike one-handed) and he relaxes when his injury isn’t exposed to the open air. 

When Ford comes back he’s got a freshly made contraption in his hand (he always has a contraption). Stan doesn’t even recognize half of the parts, btu half he does recognize don’t fill him with confidence for the device (whatever it is). 

He says it’s for a cast, but Stan needs to ice his arm first and Ford obliges. While he’s digging around for the ice, Stan grabs a bottle of alcohol, something local with an unpronounceable name but with high proof, and chugs it. Ford gives him a dirty look, but this is Stan’s best pain remedy. So Stan walks his bottle, Ford the ice, to their bed and he uses both until he’s no longer in pain (and conscious). 

——-

When he comes to, Stan feels surprisingly better. Maybe a little dirty, but he’s not in tons of pain anymore. He checks his arm and sees a cast. Huh. 

He wiggles it and recognizes that there are definitely painkillers running through his body (he sure hopes they’re pain killers). The pain is dull and his broken arm is only inconveniencing him instead of causing him a lot of trouble. While he appreciates it, he’s a little miffed that Ford did all this while he was asleep. 

Stan winces; he’s all stiff. Apparently his brother had drugged him and made the case, but nothing else. His boots are off, but all the rest of his clothes are dirty and crusty. He really could use a shower. Gingerly, he gets up and goes to the restroom. 

It’s twilight, the nebulous time where people should be sleeping, but the time when his nerd brother finds most of his inspiration when sleep-deprived. Stan spots light somewhere on the boat, but he decides not to disturb him and goes to shower on his own. 

But even shirtless, Stan has trouble undressing. He’s not quite as flexible as he used to be, and without his other arm to hold him steady, getting out of his clothes is a challenge. The clothes get taken off eventually and he showers. 

“What the-“

But as soon as the water hits his cast, it starts melting into goop. Stan holds his arm out so that the goop doesn’t fall into the drain, making a mess on the floor. Ooo-kay. He’ll have to look into that later (and have Ford clean it up). 

It makes showering easier and harder. Easier because he can actually wash his arm (a cast always made his arms smell and his arm hairs itch), but now Stan has to be exceptionally careful. A small bump could put him out for the count and without a cast it’s easy to forget that his arm is broken. 

He manages to take a shower without issue, although toweling off is more of an effort than he likes. Then he dries off, dodging the goop on the ground. Attempts to put his clothes on, which turns out to be an impossible task, and gives up, putting on the bathrobe he has in the bathroom. 

He’ll get into some clean clothes later. 

By the end of the whole ordeal, he’s tired and ready to sleep. He quickly assembles a make-shift splint for himself before flopping back into bed. 

\-----

“Stan, wake up!” 

Stan wakes up immediately. He normally sleeps heavily, but he hasn’t gotten rid of the habit of waking when prompted. 

“What is it?” Stan snorts. 

He immediately attempts to sit up and assess his situation. Shit, he’s not ready for an emergency. He’s pressed back down into the bed and he tries not to panic. If he’s being attacked, they would have done their worst to him while he was asleep. Waking him first, that’s never been a good sign. 

Blinking rapidly to get the grit out of his eyes, Stan opens them and sees Ford looming over him, worried. Ah, he should have known. 

“You’ve been sleeping for so long- I woke you up because you didn’t get the chance to eat,” Ford says. 

Ugh, Ford woke him up just to eat? What happened to sick people getting rest? 

It probably is for the best, really, he needed to get an actually cast on before he injured himself further. 

But when he moves his arm, he sees that he already has a cast on. A new one that looks very permanent in a way the goop-one didn’t. 

“I figured it was prudent to get your arm in a cast immediately,” Ford says. 

Stan really should chew the man out. They’ve talked about doing experimental science while Stan was asleep,  _ especially  _ when Stan has own opinions on the science in question (he  _ definitely  _ knew more about his own broken bones than Ford). God, he hopes the man at least washed his arm before putting it into a cast, but he gets the distinct, itchy, feeling that he didn’t. Ugh, what trouble. He’s too tired and hungry to deal with this bullshit. Next time he’ll chew him out. 

“This ain’t happening again,” Stan grumbles and Ford smiles when he realizes Stan is okay with what’s done. “Now come on, what are we eating?”

Ford tries to help Stan to the kitchen, but Stan isn’t haven’t any of that. His arm is broken, but he can walk just fine and they go to the kitchen. Waiting for him at the table is…

Another sandwich and a cup of orange juice. 

It’s official, his brother can't cook anything else. This time the sandwich isn’t as dry, his brother remembered the mayonnaise and the juice is refreshing instead of ice cold this time around. Ford hovers, but Stan waves him away. Stan doesn’t let him cut his sandwich into pieces (that would be a crime against sandwiches) or to tuck a napkin into his shirt (he never did that even when he had both arms), but he does allow Ford to refill his drink and to build him another sandwich (with his direction). 

It’s nice to be spoiled in this way. When he was ill, he didn’t get to enjoy it for very long, so he’ll enjoy it now. 

However, the next few weeks tests Stan patience. 

Stan, with his broken arm, needs help with a few specific things: cooking, opening and carrying items, changing his clothes, and working the rigging of the boat. Most of these things Ford already helps him with. But something about the fact that he’s injured has scrambled Ford’s brain. Ford changes between treating him like he’s sick in bed and like he’s totally okay. He hovers when he doesn’t have to and forgets to help Stan when he needs it. 

Eventually, Stan gets fed up and starts bossing Ford around. Normally Ford wouldn’t allow it, but he’s surprisingly docile while Stan has the cast on. As long as he doesn’t demand anything too unusual, his lover goes along with it (which makes for some very great nights in bed). 

He’s almost sorry to see the cast come off. 

Almost, because really, having only one hand is a pain, even if Stan is ambidextrous. 

It makes him wish he could have Ford take care of him when he wasn’t sick...

* * *

**Three (and more)**

Stan doesn’t consider the idea seriously until after the new year. 

The idea was there in the back of his mind, but he only entertained it as a fantasy, maybe a roleplay the two of them could do. 

But after the holidays, Stan is feeling a little.. Lonely. 

While he and Ford have resolved most of their issues when alone, they fall back into their old habits (post Ford coming out of the portal habits) when in front of the children. They’re more likely to fight and bicker (in a familial way). Not to mention they both want to keep their relationship a secret from the kids, at least for now. 

Ford is his best partner, but after having less, Stan is craving more. 

Maybe if Stan fell ‘sick’ again maybe Ford would spoil him just right.

\-----

Stan clutches at his stomach and groans. 

Ford immediately comes to his side, “Stan! What’s wrong?”

“Feels like my stomach’s coming apart. Must have been the stew,” Stan says, still groaning. 

“What did I tell you about eating local fare in a bar,” Ford scolds, but his touch is gentle. “Let me carry you.”

And Ford lifts him up easily in a bridal carry. Stan almost drops the act he’s so startled, but thankfully it turns into him clutching onto Ford as Ford brings them back to the boat. Ford’s even being extra careful not to jostle him. Normally he’s the one doing the carrying so this is a nice change. 

When Ford places him on their shared bed, Stan’s about to tell the man to ravish him, when Ford immediately runs off. When he comes back his arms are filled with bottles of what must be experimental treatments. One of them even winks at him and Stan knows in that moment: faking it isn’t worth it. 

“You know what? On second thought, it’s probably just gas. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

\-----

Stan blows his nose on a tissue. Making it red(der) was easy enough and all he had to do was put a little glue in his nostrils to sound congested. Then it was a matter of ‘lying out on the deck’ and he had a fake cold. 

He plans this knowing that Ford stayed up all night doing science-stuff and continues to cough, sniff, and sneeze loudly until Ford comes in. 

“Oh, what did I tell you, Stanley? You really should stop that habit of sunbathing on the deck,” Ford says, coming forward to feel his forehead. Stan has already made sure his head is hot and sweaty. “See? You’re sick again.”

Stan gently brushes him off. “Don’t nag me, Sixer,” he grumbles. 

Ford sighs, but in an indulgent sort of way. 

This time when he gets a sandwich and juice, he can enjoy it. After he’s finished he’s thinking about suggesting they ‘share body warmth’ or something, heh, when Ford comes back, snapping some gloves on. 

Uh oh. 

“Really if you’re going to get sick so often, then perhaps I should look into your immune system,” Ford says, setting down some beakers. “I’ll need to fill these.” 

After being poked and prodded and having to fill up the breakers (ugh), Stan is finally able to convince Ford that what he needs is rest. When he wakes up the next morning, he makes a ‘miraculous’ recovery. 

\-----

When Stan ‘breaks’ a bone, Ford flies into a rage and tries to fight the anomaly that broke it. 

He fails. 

Stan no longer has a broken bone and rescues them both. 

\-----

When he gets ‘entranced’ by a siren, Ford begins to shoot with prejudice. 

Stan ‘wakes up’ quickly so Ford doesn’t accidentally kill everything in the surrounding area and destroy the Stan O’ War 

\-----

Stan goes through plan after plan, but they all don’t work the way he wants them to. When the next scheme has Ford looking over him in his sleep, Stan gives up. It doesn’t matter that much and Ford isn’t a very good caretaker anyway. He’s fine with the way things are. 

\-----

“Stan?” 

Stan? Who’s Stan? 

“Here, I made you a sandwich and some juice. Do you want to go eat it on the deck? It’s sunny and the fresh air sounds nice.”

The other person’s voice is warm, although he doesn’t recognize it. He supposes it doesn’t sound too bad to go outside and eat. Some sun and some breeze would be nice. He nods. 

A gentle hand tugs him forward and he follows. He’s settled onto a deck and the weather is as nice as promised. The sun warms his bones and the air is filled with salt. He takes in a lungful. 

There’s a ‘clink’ and a plate with a sandwich and a glass of juice are placed next to his side. He starts eating and he likes the taste. He eats everything and thinks how nostalgic the taste is. 

Nostalgic?

Yes, he remembers when Shermie used to make these sandwiches for them. His older brother was the only one tall and big enough to get all the ingredients out, while Ford and him would have to get on top of each other just to reach the bread box. Shermie used to just throw everything together, but the end product was always edible. Washing it all down with orange juice was the trick when the sandwiches always turn out to be too dry. 

Stan blinks. 

Hm?

He looks around. He’s sitting on the deck of the Stan O’ War. When did he get here?

He just finished eating one of Ford’s nostalgia sandwiches and… 

“Stan? Are you okay?” 

Stan watches as Ford sits next to him with a tentative smile. “Are you.. Okay?” Ford repeats. 

Stan tilts his head. “What are you talking about, Ford?” 

Ford’s face drops, only for a moment, before he’s smiling again. “Nothing!” He says, unconvincingly. “I was wondering, if you’d like me to ah- go over the boat again? Hm? Would you like that?” 

Well, Stan would like Ford to stop treating him so weirdly, like a kid, but he’s never really seen Ford like this before so he plays along. “I’d love to go over the boat again, Sixer,” he says. 

Ford pulls him up, telling him to leave the dishes he’ll do them later, and starts showing him around the Stan O’ War. The tour is interesting. A bit dumbed down, but it’s an insight to how Ford feels about the boat. Ford points out things like how he ties the knots, to the designs of the sails. He shows Stan how everything is ‘optimal for speed’, to the way he designed the bathroom so they would always have water. Along the way, he adds in little anecdotes about the adventures they’ve already had together. 

In fact, the only stories he tells are the good ones, the exciting ones, the triumphant ones. Ford tells happy story after happy story and Stan nods along and makes the appropriate reactions to each one. He doesn’t always remember them going the way that Ford tells them (much- easier, and heroic), but he knows every single one. 

The whole thing feels very rehearsed and with each story, Stan gets a better understanding on what’s going on.

It took him a few weeks to get all of his important memories back in Gravity Falls, and it wasn’t like he knew what was missing. Every now and then Stan would have a small gap in his years, but nothing major, nothing that too much alcohol, or drugs, or sickness and pain (or mental institutions) in the past couldn’t explain away. 

But it sounds like he’s also been having memory problems AND forgetting them. 

Why didn’t Ford tell him? 

No, this is exactly the sort of thing that Ford would hide from him. Probably worried that Stan would do something ‘irrational’ if he found out. The asshole. 

He’s over sixty and he has lived more than half of his life without Ford. He can take care of himself. 

How is this for irrational? Stan is going to keep pretending to have memory problems. 

Stan keeps up the act, taking cues from Ford on what he’s like when he has these memory problems. He’s a bit childish and he makes sure to smile, and Ford eats it up. They get through the whole day like this, although by dinner time Stan is tired of it all. 

How many times has he lost a chunk of his time and hadn’t realized? How many days, or even months has he lost? He’s been like this for at least a day and Ford doesn’t seem worried at all. Not to mention Ford seems too practiced at taking care of Stan when he’s like this. 

When they bunk down, Stan pretends to sleep. Ford also pretends to sleep, but Stan knows he’s actually watching Stan sleep, the creeper. After what feels like hours, his brother lifts his hand to softly pet his hair. Then he comes close to whisper, “Come back to me, Stan,” with a gusty sigh. 

Stan immediately feels the guilt roiling in his stomach. He decides he won’t ever pretend to be sick ever again. 

* * *

**+One **

He comes to with one of the worst headaches he’s had in quite awhile. 

Fuck, where’s his gun? Who’s done this to him? What’s the situation?

He flails around and his limbs are exponentially heavier than they should be, is he trapped in some kind of diabolical ploy?

“Ford! Calm down, you’re just caught in the blankets,” Stan says and Ford tenses. Is his brother trapped too? He’ll need to stage a rescue for both of them-

Stan gives his ear a hard pinch. 

“Ow!”

It reminds him of the pinches their ma used to give them and imediately stops him from struggling. 

“Are you calm now?”

Calm? There’s no time for calm when they could possibly be captured-

Stan starts running a hand through his hair and he can’t help but relax against the touch. He feels Stan’s other hand gently running against his cheek and he nuzzles against it. His brother keeps on gently touching him and eventually he calms. It feels good. 

It feels even nicer when he feels a cool, damp towel being ran across his face. He realizes he’s warm, too warm, but he’s being cooled. Stan gently tugs the restraints- blankets he realizes, away, and frees him from his prison. The toweling continues and Ford feels much more clear-headed by the end. 

There’s a hand against his forehead. 

“Do you feel a little better?”

Ford nods. 

“Are you sleepy?”

Ford shakes his head. The adrenaline rush of thinking he was captured has woken him even though his body is too tired to move. In the worst case scenario he’ll move, but for now, he can accept being looked after by Stan. 

“Then come on, I’ll get a meal in ya, and give you a proper bath.” 

Intellectually, Ford knows what’s happening, but he doesn’t quite comprehend it. But he knows that he can trust Stanley and he’ll go along with his plans. Ford lets himself be sat up to drink some hot tea (it’s delicious, something hot and spicy, sweetened with honey so that it goes down easily). He manages to drink two mugs and eat the medicine that Stan gives him before his bladder starts protesting. Then Stan hefts him and carries him to the bathroom. Ford does his business and by the time he’s done, Stan has a hot bath ready for him. Stan takes care of most of the washing and he drifts off. 

When he comes to, he’s back in bed, propped up. Food has been set in front of him, it’s Stan’s chili and cornbread. The taste is very comforting and the meat, beans, and veggies are so soft he doesn’t even need to chew his meal. All the while, Stan keeps on feeding him more cups of tea. There’s no honey in them now, but the liquid helps wash down the flavorful meal. 

The food settles in his belly and he feels more invigorated. Stan pushes him down before he can even attempt to get up. 

“Calm down. While you’re in bed, we can go over the letters we were trying to send the kids, remember? You wanted to send Dipper and Mabel physical pages so they could add it to their journals,” Stan rustles some pages and Ford does remember. 

Then Stan starts reading aloud the pages they’ve already prepared. Ford nods along. His brain is too scrambled to comprehend everything, but he thinks everything sounds correct. When he tries to suggest things, Stan agrees with his suggestions. 

After a few pages, Ford feels his eyelids getting heavy…

\-----

Ford doesn’t know how much time passes, but after awhile, he’s finally coherent enough to understand that: one, he’s fallen ill, and two, Stan has been taking care of him. 

“You don’t remember, Ford? You stayed up all night studying some anomaly on the island while it was raining. It’s no surprise you caught a cold. Hell, you’re lucky you didn’t get pneumonia,” Stan says. 

Since Ford is well enough to move on his own, he’s bundled up eating a meal at the kitchen table. Stan prepares a bowl of stew for him as well as more tea. 

Ford lets out a cough before answering, “At the time, it was imperative that I study the anomaly right away.”

Stan snorts. “Yeah, what about now?”

“..Perhaps I won’t be as hasty next time,” Ford says, before eating his stew so he doesn’t have to say anymore. 

Luckily, Stan doesn’t tease him. He just shakes his head and serves himself, sitting down. Stan is eating a sandwich. 

“No stew?” Ford asks. His brother is a big fan of eating soup and sandwiches together. In fact, Ford asks if he can have some and Stan cuts him a fourth. 

Stingy. He’ll finish everything and ask for more. Ford takes a bite of the sandwich and his eyes widen. It’s practically tasteless! But how? It’s one of Stan’s normal sandwiches, with the dressing, cracked pepper, sharp cheese, spicy meats, and mayonnaise…

“Don’t go wasting that even though your taste buds aren’t working,” Stan grumbles. 

Ah, yes, that makes sense. His sense of taste is affected by the illness. Ford takes another bite and it’s just as tasteless as before even though he’s had this sandwich before and knows how flavorful it should be. He finishes it in a few bites before turning back to his stew. His stew on the other hand is delectable, rich, and hearty. 

And suddenly Ford understands that Stan made this stew specifically for him. 

After that, Ford starts noticing the other things: how Stan gives him plenty of liquids periodically, makes sure he’s well-medicated, helps him sit up and go to the bathroom, and more.

Ford struggles to remember, did he help Stan do these things when he was recently sick? His brother has fallen ill quite a few times over the last year, but Ford doesn’t remember doing this much care for him. He had just taken care of Stan like he normally did when his brother had memory problems, but being ill needs a completely different care. 

Why didn’t Stan tell him he is such a terrible caretaker? His brother’s pride is too much sometimes, what if Stan hadn’t recovered under Ford’s terrible care? Ford could never live with himself if that happened. 

Ford tries to keep the thoughts to himself. He should talk to Stan after he’s recovered, but as each day passes, he’s reminded over and over again how he didn’t take care of Stan. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and confronts him.

Stan’s surprise quickly turns to anger and he shoots back, “I’ve been keeping secrets! What about you, Mr.I-won’t-tell-my-brother-he-still-gets-amnesia. Hm? Why didn’t you tell me about that?” 

“Would you even believe me? You didn’t even remember these episodes!”

“Why you-!”

They tackle each other. 

This is why Ford should have waited until he was fully recovered. They often fought like this in order to hash everything out, yelling and tussling the whole time. They were very careful not to badly injure the other, but they were still violent and often destroyed parts of the ship. 

This fight they pull out some pretty dirty moves and while Ford normally has the upper-hand (as long as Stan didn’t have the element of surprise), he’s still recovering from his illness. It isn’t long before Stan has him in a choke-hold. 

“You’re still recovering, idiot!” Stan says, increasing the pressure around his neck. 

“I know!” Ford manages to choke out. “And it’s all thanks to you!”

Stan falters for only a second, but Ford uses it to his advantage to slip out. He dodges a swipe and they end up circling each other, both panting harshly. Ford is breathing harder than normal, but makes sure to keep his wits about him. They need to finish this conversation and he isn’t about to let his sickness end the fight. 

“You always take such good care of me, Stan!” Ford yells. “And you do it just because you can! I want to do the same!” 

Stan relaxes out of his fighting stance. “Ford…”

Ford immediately rushes forward taking Stan off guard. He slams into his brother and brings them both the floor. He presses his offense and leans forward to pin Stan with a kiss and Stan returns it, passionately. 

When he pulls away, he’s struck by the sight of his lover underneath him. 

“I’ll talk to you next time. I promise,” Stan says, breathless. 

“Me too,” Ford quickly agrees, “I promise too.” Then he moves forward to kiss him again. 

And so ends their argument. 

\-----

_Omake_:

“Ahchoo!”

“Here are some more tissues, Stan.”

“Thanks, Ford.”

“My apologies. I suppose we shouldn’t have- ah, consummated our agreement when I was still ill.”

“It was worth it.”


End file.
